My little girl’s ghost breathed upon my neck

My neck, cream…no scars.

My baby said she couldn’t take it

My baby, she is letting me go

Her infant navel warmed my back

Infant, Jesus told me she would wait

I wondered if her fingers were real

Ones on my expectant chest, ones in my drifting hair

The sky was heavy and seemed to rest low, I was asleep

Quiet, there was no sound, only her.

The corner forced me awake, the aweful traffic lights awoke

So loud, her voice hauntingly drowned…

fading, sweetly, dear child I crossed despite the colour.

Her daddy will give her to me when I grow up.


1 Comment

Filed under Poetry..., White Parchment

One response to “Romantic

  1. Luc

    this, I adore

    and weep for.

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